Part 1 (2/2)
AUNT IDA. Cats and dogs.
EVELYN. (_Returning to her reading_) Oh, very well, then, Martin, attend to it at once.
MARTIN. (_Turns to go to door_ R.) Yes, your Ladys.h.i.+p.
MADGE. (_From_ L.C.) Attend to _me_ first, Martin, if you please.
MARTIN. (_Turns back_) Yes, madam.
MADGE. How late can I post in order to catch the Indian mail?
MARTIN. Up till ten o'clock, madam.
MADGE. (_Going back to desk_) Oh, then I have time to write a longer letter. (MARTIN _exits_ R.I.)
AUNT IDA. (_Looking around at girls, who are all occupied and quite oblivious of_ CELIA'S _discomfort. With a deep sigh and shaking her head_) Poor Celia.
PHYLLIS. (_Gives a slight bang on the piano, rises and comes quickly down center. Indignantly_) Poor Celia. Well, she's coming back home just at a moment that's going to complicate--_the--whole--situation_.
EVELYN. Why, what do you mean?
PHYLLIS. (_Addressing_ EVELYN) Well, you know how father feels about letting me _get_ married--while Celia is settling down day after day into a permanent old maid. If she'd stay away a little longer, he might forget for a while, but here she's turning up just _this very night_, just as Bobby has gained courage enough to take the bull by the horns and beard the lion sulking in his tent.
(_Enter_ TARVER _in evening dress, dejectedly_, R.U., _coming down center_.)
AUNT IDA. What an extraordinary proceeding.
PHYLLIS. (_Running up to_ BOBBY _and taking him by the arm_) Oh!
Bobby, Bobby! What news?
TARVER. Well, I'm afraid it's hopeless, though I spoke with singular force. (_Sits in chair left of table_ R.)
PHYLLIS. (_Stands_ L. _of chair_, L. _of table_ R.) Oh, Bobby, how splendid of you! How did you put it?
TARVER. In the form of a question. I said to your father, ”Are you aware, sir, that I love your daughter and wish to make her mine?”
EVELYN. What did _Father_ say?
TARVER. Oh, he said, ”Has it escaped your observation, sir, that I still have _two_ marriageable daughters?”
PHYLLIS. (_Protestingly_) But he hasn't, he hasn't.
AUNT IDA. Eh?
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